MESSENGER

Unhappy man, amongst so many wracks As I have suffered both by Land and Sea, That scornful destiny denies my death. Oft have I seen the ends of mightier men, Whose coats of steel base Death hath stolen into. And in this direful war before mine eyes, Beheld their corpses scattered on the plains, And endless numbers killing by my side, Nor those ignoble, but the noblest Lords. Amongst whom above the rest that moves me most, Scipio (my dearest Master) is deceased. And Death that sees the Nobles blood so rife, Full-gorged triumphs, and disdains my life. Caesar, that wisely knew his soldiers hearts, And their desire to be approved in Arms, Sought nothing more then to encounter us. And therefore (faintly skirmishing) in craft, Lamely they fought, to draw us further on. Oft (to provoke our wary well-taught troops) He would attempt the entrance on our bars. Nay, even our Trenches, to our great disgrace, And call our soldiers cowards to their face. But when he saw his wiles nor bitter words, Could draw our Captains to endanger us, Coasting along and following by the foot, He thought to Tyre and weary us from thence. And God his willing hosts to march by night, With heavy Armour on their hardened backs, Down to the Seaside; Where before fair Tapsus, He made his Pioneers (poor weary souls) The selfsame day, to dig and cast new Trenches, And plant strong Barricades. Where he (encamped) Resolved by force to hold us hard at work. Scipio, no sooner herd of his designs, But being afeard to lose so fit a place, Marched on the sudden to the selfsame City. Where few men might do much, which made him see Of what importance such a Town would be. The fields are spread, and as a household Camp Of creeping Emmets, in a Country Farm, That come to forage when the cold begins: Leaving their crannies to go search about, Cover the earth so thick, as scarce we tread But we shall see a thousand of them dead. Even so our battles scattered on the sands, Did scour the plains in pursuit of the foe. One while at Tapsus we begin entrench, To ease our Army if it should retire. Another while we softly fally forth. And wakeful Caesar that does watch our being, (When he perceives us marching over the plain,) Does leap for gladness. And (to murder vowed) Runs to the Tent for fear we should be gone, And quickly claps his rusty Armour on. For true it is, that Caesar brought at first, And host of men to Affrique, meanly Armed, But such as had brave spirits, and (combatting) Had pour and wit to make a wretch a King. Well, forth to field they marched all at once, Except some few that stayed to guard the Trench. Them Caesar soon and subtly sets in rank. And every Regiment (warned with a word Bravely to fight for honour of the day.) He shows that ancient soldiers needs not fear, Them that they had so oft disordered. Them that already dreamed of death orflight. That tyer'd, would never hold out, if once they see That they overlaid them in the first assault. Meanwhile our Emperor (at all points armed) Whose silver hairs and honourable front, Were (warlike) locked within a plumed cask, In one hand held his Targe of steel embossed, And in the other grasped his Coutelas: And with a cheerful look surveyed the Camp. Exhorting them to charge, and fight Like men, And to endure what ere betided them. For now (quoth he) is come that happy day, Wherein our Country shall approve our love. Brave Romans know, this is the day and hour, That we must all live free, or friendly die. For my partly (being and ancient Senator,) And Emperor and Consul, I disdain The world should see me to become a slave. I'll either conquer, or this sword you see, (Which brightly shone) shall make and end of me. We fight not we Like thiefs, for others wealth. We fight not we t'enlarge our skant confines. To purchase fame to our posterities, By stuffing of our trophies in their houses. But t'is for public freedom that we fight, For Room we fight, and those that fled for fear. Nay more, we fight for safety of our lives, Our goods, our honours, and our ancient laws. As for the Empire, and the Roman state (Endue to the victor) thereon ruminate. Think how this day the honourable Dams, With blubbered eyes, and hands to heaven upreared, Fit invocating for us to the Gods, That they will bless our holy purposes. Me thinks I see poor Room in horror clad, And aged Senators in sad discourse, Mourn for our sorrows and their servitude. Me thinks I see them (while lamenting thus) Their hearts and eyes lie hovering over us. On then brave men, my fellows and Rome's friends, To show us worthy of our ancestors: And let us fight with courage and conceit, That we may rest the Masters of the field: That this brave Tyrant valiantly beset, May perish in the press before our faces. And that his troops (as tucht with lightning flames) May by our horse, in heaps be overthrown, And he (bloodthirsting) wallow in his own. This said; His Army crying all at once, With joyful tokens did applaud his speeches. Whose swift shrill noise did pierce into the clouds, Like Northern winds that beat the horned Alps. The clattering Armour buskling as they paced, Ronge through the Forests with a frightful noise, And every Echo took the Trumpets clange. When (Like a tempest raised with whire-winds rage,) They ran at ever-each other hand and foot. Wherewith the dust, as with a darksome cloud, Arose, and overshadowed horse and man. The Darts and Arrows on their Armour glanced, And with their fallen the trembling earth was shaken. The air (that thickened with their thundering cries,) With pale won clouds discoloured the Sun. The fire in sparks from forth their Armour flew, And with a duskish yellow, choked the heavens. The battles locked, (with bristle-pointed spears) Do at the half pike freely charge each other, And dash together Like two lusty Bulls, That (jealous of some Heyfar in the Herd,) Run head to head, and (sullen) will not yield, Till dead or fled, the one forsake the field. The shyuered Lances (rattling in the air,) Fly forth as thick as moats about the Sun: When with their swords (fleshed with the former fight,) They hew their Armour, and they cleave their casks, Till streams of blood, Like Rivers fill the Downs. That being infected with the stench thereof Surcloyes the ground, and of a Champant Land, Makes it a Quagmire, where (kneedeepe) they stand. Bloodthirsty Discord, with her snaky hair, A fearful Hag, with fire-darting eyes, Runs cross the Squadrons with a smoky brand: And with her murdering whip encourageth The overforward hands, to blood and death. Bellona fired with a quenchless rage, Runs up and down, and in the thickest throng, Cuts, casts the ground, and madding makes a pool, Which in her rage, free passage does afford, That with our blood she may anoint her sword. Now we of our side, urge them to retreat, And now before them, we retire as fast. As on the Alps the sharp Nor-North-east wind, Shaking a Pynetree with their greatest pour, One while the top does almost touch the earth, And then it riseth with a counterbuff. So did the Armies press and charge each other, With selfsame courage, worth and weapons to; And prodigal of life for liberty, With burning hate let each at other fly. Thrice did the Cornets of the soldiers (cleerd,) Turn to the Standard to be new supplied; And thrice the best of both was feign to breathe. And thrice recomforted they bravely ran, And fought as freshly as they first began. Like two fierce Lyons fighting in a Desert, To win the love of some fair Lioness, When they have vomited their long-grown rage, And proved each others force sufficient, Passant regardant softly they retire. Their jawbones died with foaming forth and blood. Their lungs Like sponges, rammed within their sides, Their tongues discovered, and their tails long trailing. Till jealous rage (engendered with rest,) Returns them sharper set then at the first; And makes them couple when they see their prize, With bristled backs, and fire-sparkling eyes, Till tyer'd or conquered, one submits or flies. Caesar, whose kinglike looks Like day-bright stars, Both comfort and encourage his to fight, Marched through the battle (laying still about him.) And subtly marked whose hand was happiest. Who nicely did but dyp his spear in blood, And who more roughly smeared it to his fist. Who (staggering) fell with every feeble wound, And who (more strongly) paced it through the thickest, Him he inflamed, and spurred, and filled with horror. As when Alecto in the lowest hell, Does breathe n w heat within Orestes breast, Till outward rage with inward grief begins, A fresh remembrance of our former sins. For then (as if provoked with pricking goads,) Their warlike Armies, (fast locked foot to foot,) Stooping their heads low bent to toss their staves, They fiercely open both Battalions. Cleave, break, and raging tempest-like overturn, What ever makes head to meet them in this humour. Our men at Arms (in brief) begin to fly. And neither prayers, intreaty, nor example Of any of their leaders left alive, Had pour to stay them in this strange carrier. Straggling, as in the fair Calabrian fields, When Wolves for hunger ranging from the wood, Make forth amongst the flock, that scattered flies Before the Shepherd, that resistless lies. These mis-fortues yet must I report to sad Cornelia. Whose cease less grief (which I am sorry for) Will aggravate my former misery. Me thinks I hear my Masters daughter speak. What sighs, what sobs, what plaints, what passion have we endure Cornelia for your sake? Where our Captains are. Where are our Legions? Where our men at Arms? Or where so many of our Roman souls? The earth, the sea, the vultures and the Crows, Lyons and Bears are their best Sepulchers. None resisting now, the field was filled with all confusion, of murder, death, and direful massacres. The feeble bans that yet were left entire, Had more desire to sleep then seek for spoil. No place was free from sorrow, every where Lay Armed men, over-trodden with their horses. Dismembered bodies drowning in their blood, And wretched heaps lie mourning of their maims. Whose blood, as from a sponge, or bunch of Grapes Crushed in a Winepress, gusheth out so fast, As with the sighed does make the found aghast. Some should you see that had their heads half cloven, And on the earth their brains lie trembling. Here one new wounded, helps another dying. Here lay and arm, and there a leg lay shivered. Here horse and man (overturned) for mercy cried, With hands exstended to the merciless. That stopped their ears, and would not hear a word, But put them all (remorseless) to the sword. He that had hap to escape, does help a fresh, To reinforce the side whereon he served. But seeing that there the murdering Enemy, Pesle-mesle, pursued them Like a storm of hail, They gan retire where Juba was encamped; But there had Caesar eftsoon tyrannized. So that despairing to defend themselves, They laid aside their Armour, and at last, Offered to yield unto the enemy. Whose stony heart, that never did Roman good, Would melt with nothing but their dearest blood. And Scipio my Father, when he beheld His people so discomfited and scorned. When he perceived the labour profitles, To seek by new encouraging his men, To come upon them with a fresh alarm. And when he saw the enemies pursuit, To beat them down as fierce as thundering flints, And lay them level with the charged earth, Like ears of Corn with rage of windy showers, Their battles scattered, and their Ensigns taken. And (to conclude) his men dismayed to see, The passage choked with bodies of the dead; (Incessantly lamenting th'extreame lose, And souspirable death of so brave soldiers.) He spurs his horse, and (breaking through the press) Trots to the Haven, where his ships he finds, And hopeless trusteth to the trustles winds. Now had he thought to have arrived in Spain, To raise new forces, and return to field. But as one mischief draws another on, A sudden tempest takes him by the way, And casts him up near to the Coasts of Hyppon. Where adverse Navy sent to scour the seas, Did hourly keep their ordinary course; Where seeing himself at anchor slightly shipped, Besieged, betrayed by wind, by land, by sea, (All raging mad to rig his better Vessels, The little while this naval conflict lasted,) Behold his own was fiercely set upon. Which being soar beaten, till it brake again, Ended the lives of his best fighting men. There did the remnant of our Roman nobles, Before the foe, and in their Captains presence Die bravely, with their fauchins in their fists. Then Scipio, (that saw his ships through-galled, And by the foe fulfilled with fire and blood, His people put to sword, Sea, Earth and Hell, And Heaven it self conjured to injure him,) Stepts to the Poop, and with a princely visage Looking upon his weapon died with blood, Sighing he sets it to his breast, and said: Since all our Hope's are by the Gods beguiled, What refuge now remains for my distress, But thee my dearest never-deceiving sword? Yea, thee my latest Fortune's firmest hope. By whom I am assure this hap to have, That being free born, I shall not die a slave, Scarce had he said, but cruelly resolved, He wrenched it to the pommel through his sides, That from the wound the smoky blood ran bubbling, Wherewith he staggered; And I stepped to him To have embraced him. But he (being afraid T'attend the mercy of his murdering foe, That still pursued him and oppressed his ships,) Crawld to the Deck, and life with death to ease, Headlong he threw himself into the seas.